BedTime Stories
by ForsakingLoneliness
Summary: A young girl has a surprising conversation with her mother.


A small cottage lay on the outskirts of a small town. Inside, a woman carried her drowsy daughter to the child's room.

The woman's blond hair streamed behind her as she walked. Her brown eyes, however beautiful, were dull as they settled on her charge's dangling legs.

Useless.

Her child had been born a cripple into the wrong household. They had been living in poverty since the child's father died.

The woman closed her eyes as she attempted to block out the images that flooded in. The twisted metal coupled with a stripped tree.

Her purposeful stride was hesitated, if only for a moment, making the child stir. This brought her mother back to the present. A sigh escaped the elder's mouth.

She finished the short trek to the room at the back of their home and set her daughter on her "bed".

The child squirmed under the single sheet that adorned her small cot. A smile lit up her blue eyes as she looked at her mother.

"Can you tell me a story?"

The child's grin was infectious.

Her mother leaned over, casting a shadow on the young girl's curly yellow locks.

"Oh, and which one should I recite for you tonight?"

The child frowned in concentration. The woman chuckled at her expression.

It amazed the mother. Her daughter was no more than seven and had never been to an authentic school. But regardless of her lack of ordinary knowledge, the child seemed to pick up on the most advanced ideas.

"What about the one with the rocket?"

The mother rested her hand next to her child's arm and made it "take off" into the air and fly over the child.

The girl giggled in delight, but shook her head.

"Well then..." continued the woman, grasping for ideas. "How about the one with the _evil heart-snatchers!_"

The child laughed and attempted to wiggle away as her mother's hands found her sides.

After a bout of laughter from both females, the child looked at the ceiling.

"I don't like that one."

Her face was blank. This frightened the mother because her little girl was always carefree and bubbly.

"Oh? And why is that?"

The girl turned her head towards her mother and pointed at her own chest.

"Because of the Nobodies."

The woman hid a small smile as an idea hit her.

"Do they scare you?"

The child shook her head, confounding her care-giver.

"Then...what is it?"

The smaller blond looked back up at the ceiling and held both hands in front of her face, covering her eyes.

"It's sad."

Detecting a tremble in her daughter's voice, the mother put her hands on the young one's shaking shoulders.

"Honey, why are you crying? Why do you think it's so sad?"

"They didn't have a choice. You can't live without choosing how!"

The mother's worried expression changed to a shocked one. She quickly sat down and pulled her daughter into her lap.

The child threw her arms around her mother's neck and continued sobbing.

"They were in Hell! And they didn't cry because they couldn't and no one else ever cried for them. It's sad."

The mother patted her daughter's back, contemplating her words. She stroked the place where her daughter's legs lay.

Maybe...they really didn't have a choice. Maybe they couldn't really live because of that. And, as the story went, that's all they wanted. That choice. That life. They were willing to do anything to get everything back, the highs and the lows. But...

"...It's just a story, Aurelia. It never happened."

The girl curled a fist and pounded it on the pillow next to her.

"How do you know? Every story has some kind of fact to it."

The tears continued to pour as the woman scrambled to find the right words. Nothing was coming.

"Well...I...I guess we'll have to be sad for them. Both of us."

The young one looked up, her blue eyes still swimming with unshed tears.

"But, we have to be happy for them, too. They can't be sad all of the time. Okay?"

Looking down, a final tear hit the child's sheets. When she looked back up to her mother, a large grin was stretched across her face.

"Alright mommy. We'll do that."

* * *

You can't judge a book by its cover. That statement is true. 

But you also can't judge it if you've just skimmed the pages.

If a child can make an observation such as this, why can't the rest of society?

* * *

Disclaimer: All characters in this story belong to me. The 'heart-snatchers' that are mentioned and the nobodies do not.  



End file.
